


Elf's Folly

by SmashFox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Abuse, Canon Typical Violence, Everyone has terrible parents, Gen, Herald Mage Era, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, Torture, Whipping, attempted suicide, but for freedom, implied rape/abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmashFox/pseuds/SmashFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Fenris knows is the life of the slave. He's heard tales of the Dalish--the Shin'a'in of the Dhorisha Plains and the Taleydras of the Pelagiris Forest. But with the lyrium burning in his skin, marking him as the toy of the mage, escape is forever out of reach. </p><p>Just when all hope is lost and Fenris has resigned himself to life as a slave, a white horse appears and whisks him away to a land of freedom, Heralds, and Companions. But this new home is not the sanctuary that he had longed for. Even here there are mages. As tensions build between Valdemar and Karse, Fenris must ask himself what does magic touch that it does not spoil?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> No trigger warnings for this chapter!  
> I will trigger warn for everything.

Fenris ran through the woods like his life depended on it. There was no way he could go back, no after what he’d done to get away this time. Long pointed ears afforded him better hearing than any human. Pressing up against a thick tree, he paused to listen for pursuit, but there was no sound save for his ragged breathing. He’d done it. Fenris couldn’t believe it. After three years he was finally free of that blood mage Danarius and his wicked apprentice Hadriana.

Breathing easier, Fenris pushed away from the tree and started to head north. Every slave had heard rumors of the free cities that lay to the north of the Trevinter Imperium. All Fenris had to do was make it there and he’d be free.

The deadly elf moved easily through the forest. Danarius had taken him hunting enough that he wasn’t unnerved by the smells and sounds of the forest. He knew that he was more of a threat than anything that might lurk within the trees. The trick would be avoiding any errant woodcutter or peasant. A trail of bodies would make him easy to track and it had gotten him caught last time.

But this time was going to be different. Fenris wouldn’t allow himself to be captured alive. After what Hadriana and Danarius had done to him when he’d been returned, he knew it was better to die in the field. Let Danarius take his anger out on someone else. One way or another Fenris was determined to be permanently beyond Danarius’ reach. For all that his master was a blood mage, Fenris was sure that being able to raise the dead lay beyond Danarius’ grasp.

Armor creaking, Fenris continued to make his way farther and farther from Perivantium and slavery. He’d never put much thought into what he would do when he was free. It was pointless to daydream when he was with Danarius. He didn’t want to risk that man learning of his plans. Besides, when he was around Danarius he needed all his wits about him just to avoid punishment. Daydreaming about freedom was too risky.

Now that Fenris was free he couldn’t stop to think about what he was going to do. He needed to get as far away from the Trevinter Imperium as possible. He hadn’t dared go as far as to drug Danarius. He’d seen what Danarius’ spells had done to the last would be poisoner. Besides, given how much wine Danarius drank at the party there was no need to drug him. He’d barely managed to paw at Fenris’ tunic before passing out. Fenris was glad of it. Hadriana would have no reason to be suspicious.

The forest began to thicken and Fenris relaxed further. He couldn’t imagine Hadriana coming after him if it meant getting her fine clothes torn by brambles and thorns. She’d send in slaves after him but they wouldn’t be able to catch up with him. He’d finally be free.

A creek trickled in the distance and Fenris felt the air grow cooler and heavy with moisture. He smiled. His mother had told him stories of the Tayledras that lived in the Pelagiris forest and dealt with magic. Before Fenris had been given to Danarius, Fenris had wished that he lived with them. But now that he’d seen how magic could be twisted he didn’t see how they could be anything but evil.

Not even Danarius would venture near the Pelagiris Forest; for all that he loved the things that came out of it (once they were dead or caged). No, if Fenris was able to join up with the free Dalish, he was determined it would be with those that bred the fine horses and stayed on the expansive Dhorisha Plains. The Plains were so large that there was no way that Danarius could ever track him down. The Shin’a’in were regarded as primitive and barbaric but Fenris didn’t care. There was no way they could be worse than what he was fleeing.

Suddenly Fenris stumbled and nearly fell into a rushing stream. He hadn’t heard it grown louder. The brush was so thick that he didn’t have any warning. He gracefully landed on small beach. Laughing he knelt by the water to wash his face of the paints that Hadriana had applied to him.

Fenris smiled. He couldn’t believe it. He was finally free. The discovery of the stream was another boon. Though Danarius would likely try and track him by magic, Fenris was not going to be caught by less magical means—like dogs. The water was cold in his boots but that discomfort was a small price to pay for his freedom. Rocks moved under his feet. Fenris couldn’t hear anything but the sound of water. He’d never felt such peace. The deep forest was everything that he’d imagined it as when his mother would tell him stories about the Tayledras. It was already growing dark but Fenris felt his eyes adjust just as they had in the dark hallways of Danarius’ mansion.

Shivering, Fenris nearly tripped over a rock. The darkness had brought a chill to the air that Fenris had almost forgotten about. Spells kept Danarius’ mansions of quarters horribly warm. The cold air was welcomed after being cooped up in artificial warmth for far too long. Fenris splashed his way out of the water and nimbly climbed up the steep banks of the creek.

Once on dry land, Fenris looked around. It was darker on this side. That had to be a good thing. That had to mean that there were less people apt to be roaming around. Grinning Fenris set off into the thick underbrush. The thorns clawed harmlessly against his black armor. He never thought that he’d be grateful to Danarius for anything, but the pure black armor was a huge asset in the dark forest. He didn’t care what Danarius thought about it looking striking. What it did was allow him to become harder to spot in the complete darkness of the forest.

If Danarius wanted him to be invisible in the dark, dressing him in purest black wasn’t the way to go—but then again when had his master—his former master!—put form over function.

Giddy on his newfound freedom, Fenris darted ahead in the dark woods. He heard so many new sounds. He could just piece out which sounds belonged to the animals that his mother had described. This wasn’t part of the Pelagiris Forest, so it was unlikely that it would be filled with the same magical creatures as from his mother’s stories about the Tayledras. There was the long haunting call of the owl. Fenris had never seen one but he knew that they only came out at night. No one used them for hawking.

Yipping howls echoed around him. Starting, Fenris looked around for the source. There was nothing he could see, even with his superior eyesight. The strange yips came again. Fenris didn’t think that he’d be found missing and hunted down this fast. Shivers went down his spine at the sounds. Fenris moved towards a tree and climbed it like he would any other obstacle. He’d be safe up here for the night. 

 

It was harder than he thought it would be to sleep. The forest was somehow both silent and a raucous of noise. There were sounds, yes. The yipping howls of an unknown beast, the sound of the owl, and the soft hum of insects. But aside from that, there was utter and complete silence.

He’d never been in complete silence before. His stomach twisted as the yipping howling started up against. He decided that he liked it. His former master’s quarters always hummed with magic. Here it was better.

Throwing his head back against the tree, Fenris laughed. He was free! He was completely free! He could do anything he wanted. He didn’t have to worry about anyone catching him or about the ways that the other slaves looked at him or how his sister would stare at him in naked envy. He could imagine the look on Danarius’ face when it was discovered that Hadriana had let his prize slip past her. She was going to get in so much trouble and Fenris wouldn’t be around for her to take it out on. He was free! He was completely free.

 

When he woke it was to the distance baying of hounds. Fenris ate some of the food he’d stolen before leaving and made his way down from the tree. Sleep has occurred in fits and starts. He was afraid that he’d fall out of the tree or that he would wake up. Between that there was the unbridled giddiness that Fenris was learning to associate with freedom. He was so free.

But the sound of the hounds reminded him that he would have to keep moving otherwise it would all end. He wasn’t going to let them take him alive. He was determined to cut his own throat before he let that happen.

Feet on the ground, Fenris jogged off away from the sounds of the hounds. He didn’t actually know if they were searching for him but he wasn’t going to wait and see. Instead, he tried to cover as much ground as possible. He almost wished that he’d been able to escape into the Pelagiris Forest. His mother had told him that the branches of _those_ trees were as thick as the trunks of the ones that he had seen. He could have stayed off of the ground entirely and made his escape via the trees. But though these trees were thick and tall, there was no way he’d be able to jump from branch to branch.

Even when he should have outpaced the dogs, he kept hearing the deep baying sounds. Fenris wondered if there was a hunt today. He hadn’t heard about anything during the entertainment of last night but that didn’t mean that there were magisters who weren’t mad for hunting. Surely he would have been forced to compete if there was a hunt.

Desperation drove him onwards. For all that he’d promised himself, he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to kill himself. But he knew that Danarius would kill him for what he’d done—but only after he’d made Fenris suffer. The forest started to thin and Fenris wondered if he was just going around in circles. He didn’t think he was and he tried to banish that thought. Hadriana had always said that he was stupid—what if that was true? But he’d escaped. He wouldn’t have been able to do that if he were as stupid as she told everyone he was.

Trying to put as much distance between the echoing bays of the dogs as he could, Fenris broke out into a run. He covered the ground easily. Danarius wanted him to be dangerous and beautiful and as such he was highly trained and fit.

Stumbling, Fenris tripped out into a grassy clearing. He spun and looked around. The light was so bright. Blinking in the sunlight, Fenris ran across the meadow. He was horribly conspicuous in the blinding light. It’d be easy for him to be spotted. He needed to get farther away. Breathing heavily, he stepped into the cool darkness of the woods.

The baying had died down. He blinked as his eyes adjusted and then stumbled back in horror.

“Hello Fenris.”


	2. Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: attempted suicide, but for freedom. Not much suicidal ideation. 
> 
> Man, I feel like no one really appreciates this crossover, which is a shame because I'm doing a great job of merging these settings and it's going to be perfect. Anyways, if you want to get into Valdemar, I'd recommend starting with Brightly Burning, or Magic's Pawn, if you're into sad boys with unhappy family lives. Start with Arrows of the Queen if you're a stickler for the original experience.

Hadriana stood before him looking absolutely put together. Her silken robes bore no evidence of a walk through the thick forest. He brown hair was slick and oiled down. He’d at least wanted to cause her some discomfort. But it didn’t seem like she’d taxed herself at all in locating him.

“How did you?” he demanded, slowly inching his hand towards the knife in his belt. If she knew what he was going to do she’d stop him and then tell Danarius.

Smirking down at him, she shook her head. “Really Fenris, they say elves are quiet but they heard you rattling around in your armor miles away.”

“Did they now?”

“Defiant little thing,” she said. “All that freedom has gone to your head.”

Fenris flushed. He felt the tips of his ears go hot and he knew—he just knew—that they were turning red. He ducked his head, brown wavy hair spilling over his face. He used the motion to pull the knife from his belt.

“It’s not that hard to track you.” Hadriana sighed. “I’d honestly hoped for a challenge.”

“Who’s out here?” Fenris asked, brushing his hand over his shoulder. He slipped the knife in between the plates in his armor and sliced. Blood began to flow. Had they let him escape for sport? No matter. Had that night of freedom been a lie?

“Oh Fenris,” Hadriana replied. “Really, with what you know of the world, it’s better that Danarius keeps you. You’re not smart enough to be out here alone.

Now all he had to do was wait. He moved his hand down to slice at the crease of his arm. The knife was sharp and had cut deep. All he had to do now was stall Hadriana until it was too late for her to do anything. She wasn’t unfamiliar with healing—after all there was no way she’d be able to torture him like she had done if Danarius saw the marks.

“I don’t believe you!” Fenris snarled, moving his hand down to return the knife to his belt. Hadriana would be expecting him to gather information so he could escape again. “He tracks me.”

“No one needs magic to track you,” Hadriana said. She was grinning and there was a manic light in her eyes. Blood was flowing down his fingertips. Angling his good arm toward Hadriana he scowled.

“How did you find me!” Fenris snarled. It was becoming harder to stand. Instead of staggering, he crouched liked he was going to attack Hadriana. With any luck, she’d see a threat instead of his growing weakness.

“Are you going to attack me, little wolf?” Hadriana cooed. She smirked at him. “Though, honestly I don’t see why he calls you that. You’re more like a dog.”

“You’re going to be in so much trouble,” Fenris said. The blood loss made his head light. “He’s never going to forget this.” Fenris sank to his knees. His taste of freedom had been brief but he treasured it. He didn’t even care that he was dying.

“Shit!” Hadriana swore.

He wasn’t stupid. If he was stupid then he’d be going back to Danarius alive. Looked like Hadriana was the stupid one now. She was kneading in front of him. Fenris looked up at the sky peeking through the tree canopy. His last sight in this world was not going to be Hadriana.

“Oh you bitch,” she hissed. But there was nothing she could do. Hadriana was probably going to be killed for this. Fenris smiled and held onto that thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Next one is much longer. And much sadder. Poor Fenris. Poor, poor Fenris. Poor readers, next chapter is designed to make you cry.


	3. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture, explicit whipping, suicidal ideation.

Pain.

He was stretched out and bent over. The chains around his arms anchored his wrists far above his head. His shoulder throbbed. It had been dislocated when he was shoved into the rack. The muscles along his side burned. He was being stretched farther than he’d ever been.

Crack!

The whip struck him again and opened a line of fire across his back. Grunting, Fenris bit his lip. His wounds bled sluggishly. Flies descending on his bloody back each time Hadriana paused in her torture. The insects walked over his broken skin. Fenris longed to shake them off, but he was stretched out to the breaking point. There was no slack in the chains—no way he could possibly move.

His refusal to cry out was angering Hadriana. She’d turned down the gag that the overseer had offered her. She had wanted to hear him scream. But that was one point where Fenris had control and he was not going to surrender it to her.

Ice burned his back. Tasting blood in his mouth, Fenris let go of his lip. He couldn’t scream now, couldn’t give in after all that he had endured. She was not going to get this satisfaction. He was not going to give her that. He would rather die.

The healing hurt.

Skin knit itself back together. Fenris grunted. The flies buzzed around his head. His skin was smooth and unbroken now. The bruises and the pain still remained. Behind him, Hadriana paced.

When he saw the look on her face, he should have known that something terrible was about to happen. Instead, he’d thought that there were limits to Hadriana’s imagination. It was a whip. She’d have to be careful with that. Danarius didn’t want him dead. He’d seen Hadriana kill slaves by whipping them before. She couldn’t help herself. She’d get in a frenzy and the blood would fly.

Stroking the whip, she’d looked so pleased and Fenris should have known that there was something up. Hadriana had no limits when it came to his pain.

“Well, little dog,” Hadriana snarled. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.” Fenris grinned. He was winning. He was going to best her.

“Come here, _slave boy_.” Hadriana’s voice went silky.

Fenris grew tense. He cursed Hadriana’s near endless imagination for torture. He wished Danarius were the one holding the whip. That man—his horrible, inescapable master—liked to pretend that he loved Fenris. Those words meant nothing to him. The first time Danarius had said that he loved Fenris there was hope. Not because he returned the feelings—he would never return those feelings—but because he might be able to use it to make things easier on himself. Instead he’d learned that Danarius meant it as someone loves a dog, or a particularly well-trained horse.

Though he had what Danarius insisted was his love, he was handed over to Hadriana for punishments.

“Walk around so the little dog can see you,” Hadriana commanded. Fenris was frozen. Who had Hadriana found? She’d said boy and that brought him some comfort. It was not his sister or his mother. The boy shuffled around to where Fenris could see him over the rack.

In between the slats of the rack Fenris saw Amaell.

He couldn’t help it. His mouth betrayed him, and he cried out.

“I thought so,” Hadriana said. She walked over and stood by Amaell, putting a plump white hand on his bony shoulder. Amaell, beautiful kind Amaell, grimaced. “I thought you might cry out if your _friend_ whipped you.”

Amaell mouthed ‘I’m sorry.’ Hadriana didn’t seem to notice. But what Hadriana seemed to know wasn’t always what she knew. Did she know that he had fallen for Amaell? Was he that obvious? Did everyone know? What Danarius going to have done to Amaell now that he knew? Or had she just grabbed someone who looked like his friend? How much was he giving away now?

“Get on with it,” Hadriana said, and she haughtily walked out of Fenris’ sight. Amaell looked like he was on the verge of tears. He couldn’t want to do this. He didn’t hate Fenris.

But he obeyed Hadriana.

The first stripe of the whip lacked Hadriana’s force. Fenris gasped out loud. There was no use in holding back now. She’d make Amaell whip him until Fenris made the sounds that she so wanted to hear.

Amaell was one of the few household slaves still talked to Fenris. All else were jealous of his position.

Fenris bent down to gather the dishes and food left behind by the drunken magisters. Danarius had hosted yet another dinner. Fenris had been paraded around on a leash—like a show dog. It wasn’t the worst. After the dinner was done, his master was too drunk to try anything with him.

A few hours as show dog was worth a night of peace.

The clink of dishes brought him back. He had been lost in his head for a moment and hadn’t noticed the new slave cleaning up.

Well, no. He’d noticed him all right. Of course he’d noticed. How could he not? He’d tried not to, but he couldn’t help sneaking glances at him. The new slave, Amaell, was beautiful and looking at him.

Fenris cleared his throat, fumbling slightly with his hands full of dishes.

They’d never been alone together—a fact that Fenris was painfully aware of. His heart somehow both pounded and stopped in his chest. The other slaves had left him to clear the dishes from the tables alone. Fenris supposed that it was out of jealousy and spite. They couldn’t know that the time spent cleaning was blessed time. He was free of Danarius during these hours.

Fenris spun around, intending to drop off the dishes and return to his room as quickly as possible. This was too confusing, like someone—another slave even. It had happened before, or at least he thought it had. A slave girl with a nice smile once or twice but nothing like this and certainly not another boy.

He turned around, lost in his thoughts as ell as his dishes and walked right into Amaell. Stumbling Fenris, took several steps backwards, his ears burning.

“Hey, I don’t bite.” Amaell reached out and steadied the dishes that threatened to crash to the floor. “Relax.” He smiled at Fenris and Fenris wanted to flee. But he couldn’t move. What spell was this?

“Thanks,” Fenris mumbled once he had a handle on the plates.

Amaell’s hands hand crushed against his forearms when he caught the dishes. The touch sent goose bumps exploding all over his body. It felt electric, magical, and good—but it was wrong. He knew that it was wrong.

What was happening to him?

Fenris straightened up, rushed to the kitchen and dropped the dishes next to another slave. A glass fell off the counter and shattered on the floor.

Shit, shit, shit. He slipped out the door and into the hallway. Leaning against the cool stone of the wall, Fenris wondered what was happening to him. How could someone have such power over him? He sunk down to the floor.

What was this? Who is that?

If he liked boys too, did that mean—did that mean that eventually Danarius’ ministrations would turn from worst torture to greatest pleasure? The thought was sickening. That couldn’t happen. This was wrong. This was so wrong.

 “Hit him harder,” Hadriana demanded.

Amaell struck Fenris again. Fenris cried out, it was almost a relief not to hold back the screams. The burns of fire came quicker and spread across his body. Fenris’ throat grew raw and hot tears streamed down his face.

Fenris sat in the courtyard, his arms wrapped around his knees. He watched the ground, his eyes unfocused. He was exhausted from being Danarius’ lapdog all day. His shoulders ached and his head pounded in his temples. He couldn’t sleep, but he often couldn’t. Nighttime was the only time he could be free, even if only for a moment.

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Fenris froze. Danarius would be furious if he knew his prize was out alone. He turned around, holding his breath, expecting the worst.

It was Amaell, his hair falling in front of his eyes, and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“What are you doing down here?” Fenris asked. “You’ll be punished it they find you out here.”

“So will you,” Amaell said, sitting down next to him.

“I’ll be punished one way or another. But at least this way, I’ll enjoy the night,” he mumbled, still staring at the ground.

“And at least we can be together, too,” Amaell said, looking at Fenris shyly. Fenris blinked, clearing his head, and looking at Amaell for the first time since he came over.

“What? Why would you want to be together?” He asked, becoming immediately suspicious. Danarius and Hadriana would use anything to hurt him. This had to be an angle, something. He couldn’t believe this, couldn’t let them—him—get to him.

“Fenris, stop,” Amaell said, taking his hand. “It’s nothing, it’s just me. Not Danarius, not Hadriana, not anyone. Just me. I like you, Fenris.”

Fenris sighed, shaking his head, “You’re crazy, Amaell.”

“Is this a yes?”

“It’s not a no,” he smiled, looking at him from the corner of his eye, and held his hand tighter.

When his back began to heal itself, Fenris sobbed. The whip must have been enchanted. There wouldn’t be a mark left on him. Hadriana couldn’t kill him like this. He heard a gasp from behind him.

“What? Did you think I was going to let you mark up Master Danarius’ favorite toy? How stupid are you?”

As if the pain of the whipping wasn’t enough, Fenris had to wait as the wounds healed themselves. There was so much pain. He wished he would black out or just die, but Hadriana wasn’t going to let that happen. He had no idea how she’d healed him when she found him. He’d underestimated her abilities. Fenris vowed never to do that again.

Fenris stared at Amaell from across the room and Fenris poured wine for Danarius’ guests. Amaell caught his eye and turned his head down to hide his smile. Fenris did the same, careful not to show any emotion to the magisters gathered around. Fenris retired to the kitchen until he was needed again, he skin still crawling from Danarius’ praise.

Amaell came in a few moments later, carrying empty dishes from the dinner. He smirked at Fenris as he put the dishes in the sink. Amaell walked close to Fenris, causing Fenris’ ears to grow hot. They’d never been in the same room alone together, let alone this close.

Amaell leaned in closer, his lips nearly touching Fenris’. Fenris forgot how to breathe, his heart hammering in his chest. Amaell smirked again, loving the look on Fenris’ face.

He grazed Fenris’ lips with his own, his tongue tentatively teasing Fenris’. Fenris lost himself, smiling against Amaell’s lips. Fenris reached up, wrapping his arms around his neck to pull him closer. He curled his fingers in his hair, forgetting for the first time in his life what fear tasted like and instead focused on the warmth of Amaell’s arms.

Hadriana forced Amaell to whip him harder and eventually changed over to a horrid cat o nine tails. The criss-crossing wounds were almost unbearable. He wanted to die.

“I can’t, Mistress, I can’t!”

“Are you defying me, slave?”

“No, but I can’t—he’s in so much pain, isn’t this enough?”

No! Fenris thought. He couldn’t do this! She was going to kill Amaell. He wasn’t Danarius’ favorite. There was nothing that Fenris could do to stop her. All he would do was insure that Amaell’s death was long and painful.

“Do you know what he did?” Hadriana demanded. Fenris gasped as his flesh began to fuse itself back together again. While his wounds were healed, the deep aches that the lashings left behind were left alone. Those remained and Fenris didn’t know how he was going to move after this. He wouldn’t be able to do anything.

“N-no, Mistress,” Amaell whispered. Fenris felt so sorry for him, but there was nothing he could except make it worse.

“He escaped and then when he was caught, he tried to kill himself, rather than be captured again,” Hadriana said. Fenris wanted to die. He would have given anything for that not to have been spoken about. But now the overseer knew and likely other slaves would hear of it. His mother—gods, but she was going to know and she’d never stop worrying now.

“Do you know why that’s wrong?”

“No, Mistress.” Amaell’s voice was so small and broken. Fenris swallowed down a breath of pain. The flies were in his wounds again.

“He tried to destroy Master’s property,” Hadriana said. Fenris knew that she must know everything. She took such delight in bringing him low in front of Amaell. She had to know of their feelings for each other. He only hoped that she never found out about his kiss. Amaell would be killed for that. Danarius would see it as a slave daring to take something of his. For Fenris’ kisses weren’t his to be given, but Danarius’ to take whenever he wanted. Fenris wished he’d been able to kill himself. He was right. Death was better than this humiliation. He was never going to be able to look at Amaell again without Amaell looking at him with pity.

He could have withstood anything but the pity of the other slaves and the worry of his loved ones. This was the worst torture. Fenris wanted to die. But he didn’t even have control over the end of his life. Everything was going to be decided by Danarius.

“So you’re going to stop when I say stop and not before!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. Oh poor, poor Fenris. It only gets worse for him. As you may have noticed, his hair's not white yet.


	4. Unmade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: suicidal ideation, abuse,

He only barely registered being removed from the rack. By the time Hadriana had finished with him, it was dark. His body was cold and stiff. If it had not been for the other slaves holding him up, he would have crumbled to the ground.

This must have been part of Hadriana’s plan because there was no way she could have gotten him into this if he’d had an ounce of fight left in him. But he’d been too weak. There was no need to wash his back. Whatever spell Hadriana had used meant that it was healed already. The slaves tried to be careful as they dressed him.

That made Fenris want to die. They never were this careful with him. They always tried to be as gruff as possible. There was something humiliating about being a slave to a slave and not a magister. But now they handled him with care.

Every time they moved his limbs, it hurt.

He was dressed in black silk. Nothing he did made him fall from Danarius’ favor. Even his escape attempts did not cause the man to hate him. He was a man obsessed. Fenris cursed the day that he caught his master’s eye.

When he saw the black leather muzzle, Fenris tried to struggle, but his body would not obey him. The slaves delicately slipped the muzzle, with its horrible snout, over Fenris’ face. Tears tracked down his face. Was that taste of freedom worth this?

Slaves clipped a black leather collar with polished black stones around his neck. Fenris thought that the worst had happened but then a horrid pronged collar was put around his neck. The slaves held his leash delicate and the chain rattled around his neck with every broken sob.

“On your knees,” one of the slaves whispered to him. “You need to be on your hands and knees.”

Pity stung him more than any lash ever could.

“Please,” the other slave said. “The mistress—she’ll…”

Fenris shook his head, hating how the chain around his neck rattled. He was too weak. He could not move. Everything hurt too much to bear. He wanted to die.

Oh Gods above please let me die.

But there was no mercy for Fenris and the slave moved him on to his hands and knees.

“Lock your elbows,” she said, “It’ll make it is easier.”

Fenris looked at her confused.

The woman’s mouth twisted. It was not a smile. No slave ever smiled truly.

“This … this is not unusual punishment,” she said slowly. “The mistress, she, promised freedom to any slave who can outrun the hounds.”

Fenris shivered. He could all too well imagine Hadriana sending her vicious dogs after slaves that thought freedom was achievable and then making any survivors act like the dogs that maimed them.

“[Elf name] quiet,” the slave holding the leash said. “I see movement.”

The woman stood up and took her place by the other slave. Fenris locked his elbows and shivered despite the heat. It was warm out and growing warmer, which could only mean one thing. Danarius and his enchanted sphere of warmth were approaching.

Fenris looked down as they approached. He did not want to see the look on his master’s face.

“Oh Hadriana,” Danarius said. Fenris wanted to die. “You’ve done such a wonderful job with him.”

“It was my pleasure,” Hadriana purred. She took the leash from the slave and jerked him towards Danarius. The metal prongs dug into his neck. Despite the pain, Fenris stumbled forward The ground was hard on his knees. He knew he was going to ache for weeks after this punishment.

Danarius smiled. “My little wolf is not a well-trained pet.” Ruffling Fenris’ hair and the ears attached to the hood, Danarius gazed at Fenris. The look on his face was sickening.

How could this man say that he loved Fenris and then do this to him?

“How can I repay you?” Danarius asked Hadriana. “I could have never done this, my love has made me soft when it comes to my pet.”

Hadriana’s eyes gleamed. “Oh no payment is necessary.”

“I insist,” Danarius said. He paused, clearly thinking it over as Hadriana looked on hungrily. “A spellbook perhaps?”

Her fingers twitched slightly. Her face went smooth and unreadable. Though Danarius probably missed it, Fenris could tell that Hadriana was disappointed. She’d hoped for something more exciting.

“Perhaps I will find you a copy of the Treatise on Bloode ande Magick.”

Hadriana actually gasped.

“Really? Oh but Magister Danarius, that is too much,” Hadriana said, her eyes shining with delight. “I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will,” Danarius said. “It is a fitting reward. It’s bound on human skin you know.”

Bile burned Fenris’ throat. He swallowed it down. Of course Hadriana would be pleased with a horrific artifact like that. She had a mage’s love of finery but she didn’t merely desire riches. Like all mages, what Hadriana cared most about was power.

“Oh thank you so much, Magister Danarius,” Hadriana gushed. “Oh, Juliana has been wanting that for ages. She’ll be horribly jealous.”

Smiling Danarius continued. “You will, of course, not neglect your newest charges.”

“Of course not,” Hadriana said. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Come my pet,” Danarius said and tugged on the leash. The prongs touched Fenris’ neck. They were sharp but not enough to break the skin unless Danarius wanted them to. Hating himself more than he thought was ever possible, he crawled towards Danarius. “We must go retire for the night.”

Cringing, Fenris followed Danarius as he walked back to the expansive mansion. The pain was unbelievable but worse than the physical pain was the shame. Other slaves were going to see him being led around on a leash as he crawled after his master.

“You make such a good dog, my love,” Danarius said as they approached the door. Fenris’ face burned as the slave by the door looked at him in pity. His face blank, he bowed and opened the door for them. Fenris wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole. “Sit.”

The pronged chain around his neck grew tight. Sometimes Fenris could get away with not always obeying his master, but the way Danarius spoke suggested that now was not the time. Hating himself as he did it, Fenris sat like a dog.

“Look at me, my little pet,” Danarius said. Looking up, Fenris saw that he was holding a small morsel of food. “I’ve a little treat for you.”

Slipping his hand under the snout of the muzzle, Danarius pressed his hand against Fenris’ mouth. Fenris opened his mouth and ate the small piece of meat. It was cold and covered in thread from Danarius’ pocket. It was disgusting. But he hadn’t eaten all day.

The slave looked sickened.  Danarius didn’t seem to notice and instead, stroked Fenris’ hair.

“Come on, pet.”

 

The whole way to Danarius’ bedroom was like that. At every opportunity and whenever there was an audience, Danarius would stop and make Fenris obey his commands. By the end of it, Fenris was starting to wonder if there wasn’t an effective way to kill himself. There had to be a way to end this. He wanted to die.

Finally, they got to the Danarius’ bed chamber. Fenris had started to look forward to that. At least in Danarius’ personal quarters there wouldn’t be anyone to see him. Once Danarius fell asleep, he’d be allowed to take off this horrible contraption and sleep, however fitfully.

But he was not led to the bed. Evidently not even Danarius would stoop so low as to demand Fenris’ body while treating him as a dog. Fenris got up, hoping that he would be allowed to go to his own room.

Pain around his neck sent him sprawling to his knees.

“No!” Danarius’ voice was harsh. Blood dripped for the wounds on Fenris’ neck. Danarius pulled his slave to the foot of his large pet. There he saw a stuffed circular pallet. “This is where you’ll sleep.”

He’d hoped that Danarius would leave it at that. But the man noticed his bleeding wounds.

“Oh pet,” Danarius crooned, sounding far sweeter than he usually did. “I don’t like punishing you, but you are so bad. You make me become the worst man. I don’t want to do this to you.”

Danarius’ words watched over him like a sickening wave. He couldn’t believe that he had to sleep here like a dog. The room off of Danarius’ room was not the sanctuary it might have seemed but at least he could be alone, even if he was supposed to be ready to tend to his every whim. But that had been better than this.

Danarius didn’t seem to want anything more from him. Instead another slave was called into undress Danarius. That left him with nothing to do. Instead, he sat there and hoped that he could stop existing. Freed from his usual work, he was anything but free. He had to stay and act like a dog, even in his sleep. Eventually the slave left and Danarius took the leash. His master pulled the pronged chain over his neck and placed it on the floor.

“Sleep well, my little pet,” Danarius said and made his way to the bed. While Danarius’ magic saw to it that he was not cold, he could not bring himself to curl up on the dog bed. It was too horrible.

“Fenris,” his master said. “Lie down on your bed.”

He couldn’t disobey a direct order. Heaving himself on the bed he was surprised to find that it was soft and downy. Easily more comfortable than the bed in his room, the dog bed was kind to his aching body. In the Tevinter Imperium, the dogs were treated better than even the favored slaves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh poor Fenris.   
> Things get worse from here.


	5. Pet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would definitely heed these trigger warnings. TW: implied rape, abuse, humiliation, probably suicidal ideation--really at this point just assume that Fenris would like very much to not exist. Really pay attention to the implied rape. I specifically tried to make it as awful as possible without showing the rape.

Fenris lost track of how long he spent as his master’s dog. The days all blurred together. Instead of accompanying Danarius to various dinner parties, Fenris was left alone in Danarius’ room. He could do whatever he wanted. After the initial whipping, Hadriana had nothing to do with his punishment. He hardly saw her. Even when Danarius went to the dinner parties, Hadriana either went with him or didn’t dare come to Danarius’ personal quarters for the sole purpose of tormenting Fenris.

He was even beginning to put on weight. Somehow Danarius never forgot to give him his meals, as he had when he was treating Fenris like a slave. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was currently enjoying making Fenris eat off a dish on the floor or if it was because dogs were easier to care about than slaves. Fenris wasn’t sure which option upset him more.

Danarius did let him continue to train. His master wanted to humiliate Fenris, but not at the price of making himself less safe. Danarius found the time to watch Fenris train. It was a relief to stand up, but Danarius knew how to ruin even that.

Instead of letting Amaell attend him, as was usually the case, Danarius insisted on being the one to mop the sweat from Fenris’ brow and hand him the weapons. With Danarius watching him like a hawk, he wasn’t able to prolong the practices. No matter how long he trained he still had to return to his hands and knees.

“Fenris,” Danarius said. His master sounded bored and that put Fenris on edge, the worst things always seemed to happen to him when Danarius was bored. “Come here.”

Crawling towards his master, Fenris kept his head down. His neck ached more than ever. Danarius had come home drunk and spent the evening hauling him around the mansion. The looks of horror on the other slaves’ faces today had told Fenris that his neck must be an awful sight.

“Stand.”

Fenris stood. He was stiff from his time spent on the ground. His knees ached. He was much shorter than his master, looking up at him through the mask. The man reached over and unbuckled the horrid contraption from Fenris’ head.

Immediately, Fenris felt lighter. He didn’t care that Danarius would go back to forgetting his meals again or that he was once again within Hadriana’s reach. He would not be stuck at Danarius’ side all hours of the day.

Then Danarius unclasps the dog collar from around Fenris’ neck. Fenris is desperate to see Amaell. He wants to run to him and see for sure if Hadriana knows about their dalliance or was only going after one of the few slaves who would speak to Fenris. He has to know.

“Now, Fenris,” Danarius said. “I had this made for you.”

He held up a delicate looking collar of black metal and onyx stones.

“Turn around.”

Fenris obeyed and once again there is a weight around his neck.

“Now, what do you say, Fenris?” Danarius prompted.

“I—I—thank you,” Fenris whispered. His eyes flew open and he raised his hands to his throat. Was the collar to steal away his voice? But no, Danarius looked upset and surprised.

“Oh, my dear, my sweet pet,” Danarius cooed. “I’ll have to heal you.”

Fenris flinched. Magic is both terrifying and revolting, he would rather be a mute. But his desires has never factored into anything that Danarius had done to him. The man placed his hands on Fenris’ throat. There was a sting of healing. Gasping for breath, Fenris rubbed his throat.

“There,” Danarius said. “Now try.”

“Thank you, Master,” Fenris said. “Shall I undress you for bed?”

Fenris hoped that Danarius would make an early night of it. He might yet be able to sneak out and visit Amaell. Or if the other slave wasn’t outside, then at least Fenris could be alone and be human for the first time in almost a week, maybe more. He wouldn’t know until he spoke with Amaell. Was there anyone left he could trust? Had Hadriana taken away his last sanctuary? He needed to know.

“Yes, my pet,” Danarius crooned. He looked pleased. Fenris couldn’t help it. He hoped that it meant that Danarius was eager for bed. “Undress me.”

Fenris went around and pulled off the long overrobe that all magisters wore. It was thick and heavy with embroidery. Moving it from Danarius’ shoulders, Fenris hung it up in the large wardrobe. Unbuckling the heavy gold belt at Danarius’ generous waist, Fenris’ hands began to shake. It was entirely possible that Danarius had other plans for tonight.

He hadn’t slept with anyone else while Fenris was playing the role of his dog.

It was only due to the years of slavery that Fenris was able to avoid fumbling with the clasps of the under robe. It was lighter but just as decorated as the overrobe. After he removed the sleeveless garment from his master, all there was left were his hose and the full-sleeved silk shirt.

Slowly, Fenris began to unbutton the shirt. The pale silk fell away, revealing his master’s soft hairy chest. He’d run to fat. Eventually all mages ran to fat. The steady diet of rich food and wine at the dinner parties and feasts turned them all soft. The young ones managed to stay fit—out of vanity perhaps or maybe the constant dancing at those parties helped. Fenris didn’t know.

Hadriana hadn’t run to fat, he thought as worked at the laces of the hose. She wasn’t starved. Her hands weren’t boney. But she wasn’t plump like most of the apprentices that Fenris had seen. There was something sharp about her face.

“Shall I turn down your bed?” Fenris asked. He held out Danarius’ night robes.

“That would be lovely,” Danarius said accepting the garment. Fenris left his side, trying hard not to seem like he was hurrying. He lingered at the bed. Pulling the heavy comforter—also coated in embroidery—down to reveal the pale silk sheets didn’t take long but Fenris made a show of it. He wanted to be away from Danarius. It was the only freedom he was likely to ever experience. He wanted the freedom of his own thoughts.

Fenris finished his task and went to open the door to his small room.

“No.”

The word drenched Fenris in coldness.

“Undress yourself, my little wolf,” Danarius said. Fenris felt sick. He could feel the man’s eyes on him. He wanted to die. He didn’t want to exist any more. Slowly, Fenris pulled at the ties of his shirt. It was a wrap shirt like most slaves wore, only his was made of the finest black silk that Danarius had been able to find.

In the absence of any orders, Fenris dropped it to the ground. He removed his silken trousers next. His under shirt and the small clothes followed next.

As Danarius approached him he tried to cast his mind elsewhere. It was better if he wasn’t present for the things that were about to take place. The less he registered of what was about to happen the better. He approached the bed and braced himself for Danarius’ unwanted pawings.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lowkey triggered myself by writing this chapter. That's because canon!Fenris and me have really similar abuse histories (without the slavery thing obviously) but it's not enough to write my reactions because Fenris is a bit different in this one. Anyways, so I was annoyed and triggered because what's the point of being triggered if you can't be lazy with writing. 
> 
> Things get worse for Fenris. But before that they do improve.


	6. Flown the Coop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan Hawke wanted their name to be War Hawke (get it?). They were talked out of that. It is their biggest regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings this time!!!!

When they woke up in the morning, Rowan Hawke knew there was going to be trouble. They could feel it in their bones. But that might have been the fact that Bethany and Mother were already having a loud argument.

Rowan burrowed under their blankets. The yells drifted up to their room. Maybe they could just go back to sleep. It was then they noticed something move in the corner. Not wanting to risk seeming awake, Rowan sent out a faint pulse of awareness. 

“Shit!” came the whispered hiss from the closet. 

“Carver?” Rowan whispered back. “What are you doing in here?”

“Shh,” Carver muttered. “Don’t—”

“MOTHER!” Rowan gleefully shouted. The only thing that made mornings even slightly bearable was making morning worse for Carver. “Carver’s in my room!” 

“Why couldn’t you have just—”

“And let you finish doing whatever you’re doing to my clothes?” Rowan demanded, flinging off their warm blankets. They’d made the quilt themselves. The magic sewn into it kept them as warm as if it had been fur. 

“You’re so terrible!” Carver yelled back. 

Sliding into their slippers, Rowan glided across the room and grabbed Carver. 

“You’re my least favorite twin,” Rowan said with great feeling. They grinned as they were able to heave Carver up and haul him, squalling and kicking, from their room. Even though Carver and Bethany were only three years younger, Carver was not a lightweight. In fact, he was going to outweigh them soon. “Out!”

“I hate you so much!” Carver snarled. Rowan took great pleasure in slamming the door on Carver and shoving a chair underneath the doorknob. When Da had come back from his Circuit, he’d taken off the gigantic bolts from all the doors. Mother had insisted on it, saying that they were primitive and ugly. 

That and it was discovered that someone had shut Carver in the cupboard in the basement. 

Da just wouldn’t believe that Carver had locked himself in there.

Rowan sighed and went to the large, horribly ornate wardrobe that Mom had insisted on. When they finally came to Valdemar, they’d been poor and destitute. Rowan wasn’t sure how much they believed that. But that’s how Mother told the story. Rowan remembered living in the Palace. Da was a Herald Mage and the Crown housed all the Heralds and their families. Rowan hadn’t minded growing up there. The other Heralds were nice and there were always things to do and explore. 

But it drove Mother to distraction and eventually through the Menmellith Ambassador, she’d gotten what she always wanted: her noble name Amell restored. 

With her new station and the wealth that came with it, Leandrallian Amell purchased a house near the palace walls and moved her family there. It was meant to be the story of triumph, but Rowan didn’t see it that way. The rooms were drafty and dusty and the house was in need of repairs constantly. 

At least their quarters at the palace were warm. 

Rowan was just glad that they weren’t at the age when Mom would start demanding that they dressed to their station. The plain tunics and trews were fine. Rowan didn’t want to have to bother with the whaleboned doublets and thin hose that were the style for nobles of Menmellith. 

Pulling on a pair of brown trews, they sighed. It always seemed like Mother would have been happier if they’d just stayed in Kirkwall. But Da was a Herald Mage and bound to serve Valdemar and the Queen. 

Plain shirt followed and, in an attempt to appease Mother, Rowan pulled on a red vest, tightly fitted in the latest Valdemar style. They did up the fancy copper buckles on the side. Unfortunately, Mother had always hated their boots. But they were comfortable boots and Rowan wasn’t going to give them up just because Mom thought that they were below their newly cemented station. 

They tromped down the stairs of the ancient house. Leandra insisted on making them eat in the Great Dining Room for all the meals. Rowan rolled their eyes. At least Mother had started to see reason and had allowed a small buffet to be set up for breakfast. Bethany was already at the long high table when Rowan entered the room. Bethany, Rowan’s favorite twin, was sitting at the table glaring at her breakfast. 

Grabbing a plate, Rowan made their way along the buffet. There was always so much to eat. Rowan knew that most of it had to be going to waste. But Leandra couldn’t get used to way that things didn’t use magic in Valdemar. She didn’t seem to believe Malcolm when he said that he had to use his magic for the Crown. There were no cold boxes in the house, no magic used to heat the rooms. In Valdemar, magic was used for all the people—not merely those who could afford it. 

Fruit, bread, and clotted cream made a fine breakfast. 

Carver wasn’t down yet, which either meant that he’d already eaten and was trying to avoid doing what their mother wanted, or that he was skipping breakfast. Rowan wished that she hadn’t worn the vest. The longer tunics with the pockets would have made it easy to grab a roll for Carver. 

“Rowan,” Leandra said. 

They nodded to her. They didn’t need to get in a fight this early in the morning with Leandra. 

“I wish you wouldn’t wear those boots,” Leandra said. “They make so much noise.” 

“Sorry,” Rowan said. They picked up a piece of the soft white roll and smeared it with the clotted cream. “I’m going out riding after breakfast. Wouldn’t want to get the nice boots dirty.”

“Still,” Leandra said. “You should act according to your station.”

“Is that all you care about now?” Bethany burst out. 

“It is important, now that we are nobles again,” Leandra said, stiffly. She took a delicate sip of her tea. 

“You mean now that you’re a noble again,” Bethany spat out. 

“Bethany!”

“You said I couldn’t weave anymore!” Bethany yelled back.

Rowan winced. So that was what the argument was about. It was no wonder that Carver had been trying to hide. Though he could have picked a room that didn’t belong to Rowan. 

“It’s commoners’ work, Bethany!” Leandra said hotly. “This is not up for discussion.”

“You’re taking away everything I love!” Bethany got up and stormed out of the room. Rowan started gulping down food. Bethany was normally lovely and very agreeable. Unlike Carver she was good at keeping the peace with Leandra, but even Bethany had her limits. Leandra was good at finding them. 

“Rowan,” Leandra said in a warning tone. Rowan stilled. They’d been ready to get out of the house as quickly as possible and not look back. 

“Yes, Mother?” Rowan said smoothly. They smiled at her. 

“When you come back from the riding park, be sure to pick up the dancing shoes from the cobblers,” Leandra said. “We’ve been invited to Lord Orthallen’s ball next week and we need to make a fine showing.” 

Rowan nodded. “I won’t forget, Mother.” 

 

The great house that belonged to the Amell’s was still under construction. It was early spring and the weather had just become stable enough for the workers to start removing the crests of the financially ruined previous owners and start applying the Amell coat of arms. 

There was a small stable at the back of the gardens. There were no horses in there as of yet. Mother didn’t consider them important enough to spend money on. But there were mabaris—including Rowan’s own pup War. They grabbed the leather leash and whistled. Rowan was greeted with a flurry of dogs. 

Clipping the leash on to War’s collar, Rowan opened the door and pulled their pup out. The large mastiff-like slobbered all over them. Laughing, Rowan ran their fingers through War’s short hair. When they declared as Vada Maes, Rowan had wanted to name themselves War. They’d thought that War Hawke had a nice ring to it. Unfortunately, they were the only one with that opinion and eventually Rowan had given in.

Still, it would have been a great name. 

At least their mabari could have the best name ever. 

 

When they got to the riding park, Rowan and War slipped in. They weren’t here to ride. Not really. It was just a good reason to get out of the house and stay away. That was becoming increasingly hard to do; now that Mother was getting invitations from the Valdemaran nobility. 

Rowan picked a trail that wound around the creek. Unleashing War, Rowan watched as the mabari took off down the muddy trail. The other nobles would be sure to avoid this area. The riding parks were not the place to go if you wanted an exciting ride. This park was the wildest—but that didn’t mean much. All the trails were well maintained, there weren’t any jumps, and the meadows were planned. But it was better than the manicured gardens where the nobles who just wanted to flirt went. 

Rowan’s boots squelched in the mud. The glorified slippers that Leandra wanted them to wear would have been ruined in seconds. Sometimes Rowan felt a little bad at slipping away like this, but it wasn’t their fault that their siblings hadn’t learned that the best way to get Leandra off their back was to pretend to do what she wanted. 

Carver kept trying to get Leandra to approve of his dream to join the Guard, while Bethany was perfectly happy to be paraded around provided that she was allowed to spin and weave. Like Rowan, Bethany had showed an aptitude for the feminine magics of the household. Weaving and spinning and knitting, anything with threads and fibers, Bethany and Rowan cold easily turn to magical purposes. 

However what made Rowan different was that they were also capable of using the same magic that made Malcolm a Herald Mage. The outbursts had started a while ago. At first it was simple things, like pulling things that were just out of reach closer without touching them. But lately it was getting worse. 

While Rowan hadn’t kept it a secret, there were still things that they hadn’t told either parent. It was embarrassing and besides, with Malcolm now serving as Ambassador to Karse, there wasn’t much he could do. Leandra thought that she hid her dislike well, but Rowan was starting to see the ways that she looked at them and Bethany. 

She’d been raised in Menmellith and still held the ideas of mages that her parents held. They needed to be controlled. Rowan knew—though, they couldn’t say how—that Leandra would be begging Malcolm to put Rowan in the Heraldic Circle, never mind that Rowan hadn’t been Chosen yet and people without Companions weren’t able to become Herald Mages. 

It was a relief to walk around in the deserted riding park.

Rowan was startled from their thoughts by the odd bell-like sounds of horse hooves. There was a flash of white from further down the trail. Rowan surged up, followed by War. Together human and dog set off to capture the white horse. Through the gaps in the trees, they could see the horse. At Rowan’s snapped command, War stayed by their side. They weren’t going to lose their dog to a horse kick.

It took longer than Rowan thought to catch up to the horse, but eventually they reached the low wall of the riding park. The horse was a much finer horse than Rowan had ever seen at the stables. 

The horse was tall and perfect. Rowan felt a stab of envy. This was the type of horse that they wanted. This horse was far finer than anything Rowan had ever seen; long legged and powerful, this horse had the look of one that could run fast and fly over jumps. 

The hooves were a strange blue color—obviously painted to match the silver and blue tack. Rowan shook their head. The owner was clearly an idiot. The horse—a mare—tossed her head. Bells chimed. Rowan could have laughed. Of course. That was what caused the chiming sounds, not the hoof beats. 

“Shhhh, shhh-shhh, shhhhhhh.” Rowan approached the mare, carefully. It wouldn’t do to frighten such a horse away. 

Whoever the horse belonged to would be missing her. 

Finally Rowan got within reach of the mare and grabbed a hold of the reins. The bridle was unlike any other. It had bit either. Rowan bit back a laugh. With a horse as spirited as this one looked, there was no way anyone could use this to control the mare. It was no wonder she had escaped. 

“Who’s your rider?” Rowan asked. 

The horse swung her head and stared deeply into Rowan’s eyes. They were overcome with a feeling of great peace. 

There was silence. The dull thrum of the city and all those thoughts faded away. Replacing them was a soft blue stillness. It felt like they were falling into those great blue eyes. Rowan felt like they were being wrapped up in the purest love. 

Warm and cared for, they felt like they were being embraced as the horse rested her massive head on their shoulder. Tears pricked at Rowan’s eyes. This was all that they were wanted. The troubles of the morning seemed so small and insignificant. 

:Hello, Chosen.: 

Rowan heard and yet did not hear the voice. It sounded within their mind. 

This could only mean one thing. 

:Yes. I am Cypress. I am your Companion,: Cypress tossed her head towards her saddle. :They’re waiting for us in the Palace.: 

Laughing, Rowan grabbed for the saddle. Cypress was tall and long legged. That clearly meant that Rowan was due for a growth spurt or they were doomed to look like a burr on their Companion’s back. 

:Which is it?: Rowan asked, unable to keep the excitement from their mind. 

:Fast learner!: Cypress nickered as she started to move. 

Rowan sighed. The pace was smooth as silk but fast.

War barked worriedly at them. 

“Go home!” Rowan commanded. War cocked his head at her before turning and trotting off. :So which is it? Burr or tall?:

:Ah, that would be telling,: Cypress said. Her voice felt like laughter and bells inside of Rowan’s head. Then Cypress began to really move. It was like flying. On any other mount, this speed would be rough and choppy. But Rowan had no problem staying on even though Cypress was moving at a break neck pace. 

They were out of the park in seconds. The streets of Haven became a blur as Cypress moved towards the palace. It was like going home. Rowan laughed and clung to Cypress. They couldn’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we're back to Fenris and saddnes

**Author's Note:**

> Erugh. I regret this. I regret everything.


End file.
